


Chloe's Song (Oh My My My)

by swanqueenfic13



Series: Aca-Song Fics [1]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/F, Sorry Not Sorry, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanqueenfic13/pseuds/swanqueenfic13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, this is based on the Taylor Swift song "Mary's Song (Oh, My, My, My)". Basically, it's an AU where Chloe and Beca knew each other forever. Makes a lot more sense if you know the song, I promise. Plus, you should listen to it because it's a good freaking song. (Love you awesome nerds, please read).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chloe's Song (Oh My My My)

Beca Mitchell was seven years old when she learned exactly what a best friend was. Of course, she really should have known that a best friend was Chloe Beale. They’d been next door neighbors since forever, even though Chloe was two whole years older. 

Chloe Beale was all sunshine, and puppies. She had big blue eyes that none of Beca’s crayons, or even her dad’s nice paints could copy (and she has the 64 pack of crayons  _ with _ the sharpener). The red of her big curly hair was like fire in the sun, and Beca loves when Chloe’s mommy pulls those big red curls into pig tails. Her voice is like a Disney princess, and she loves to make up dance routines while they’re outside.

Beca isn’t like sunshine, and puppies are really wiggly, unlike Beca. Beca has darker eyes, and she thinks they look like the top of the sky when the sun goes down. Her hair is a poopy brown color, and her mommy always pulls it into two braids. Beca doesn’t like to sing except when Chloe does, and she’s not a good dancer. She whistles while she talks because she lost her two front teeth, and the kids at school tease her because she can’t say all her words right anymore.

Chloe Beale is a best friend because she always tells the other kids that Beca is just as smart as them. When the other kids are saying Beca can’t play with them because she’s too small (she was really short, even for a seven year old), Chloe makes sure to invite her to a sleepover when everyone else can hear.

“It’s really dark, Chlo,” Beca whispers. They were having their sleepover in the treehouse Chloe’s daddy had built when Chloe’s big brothers were little.

“Scared, Becs?” Chloe teases.

“No!” Beca squeaks. “I just… What if it gets too dark?”

“I’ll protect you,” Chloe promises. And she does. When Beca gets scared in the middle of the night, Chloe calms her down, walks her inside where they sleep in Chloe’s bed underneath the glow-in-the-dark stars.

 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if our girls got married some day?” Beca’s daddy says one day. They’re sitting in the backyard at the summer barbeque, watching their girls run around playing pretend. They were laughing by the grill, watching the burgers with one eye, paying more attention to their beer. “Like, they’re both the girl next door, huh?”

“Eh, yeah, that’d be funny. Our girls getting married. We’d really be family, then,” Chloe’s dad laughs. Chloe, who’d run by the in the course of their game of tag, comes back to Beca.

“We should get married!” Chloe squeals. Beca wrinkles her brow.

“We’re too little to get married,” Beca protests.

“We can get pretend married for now! Then someday when we’re bigger, we can get married for real.” Chloe’s pouting,her arms across her chest and stomping your foot. “If you don’t get married to me, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

“You’re gonna tell my daddy? He’s gonna say I’m too little, too!” Beca’s smirking triumphantly.

“I’m gonna beat you up if you don’t marry me,” Chloe says, sticking out her tongue. But Beca knows that Chloe would never hurt her.

“Fine,” she agrees, “I’ll marry you. How do we do it?”

“Tommy!” The twelve year old boy from down the street runs over, having gotten bored with watching his younger siblings.

“What do you want?” He grunts. He’s much taller than Chloe, and towers over Beca.

“You gotta marry us.” Chloe says it so simply, and so confidently that Tommy just nods.

“Okay, so, um, stand across from each other, and hold hands.” Giggling, the girls do just that. Chloe loves how Beca sticks her tongue out in the space where her two front teeth used to be when she giggles. “Um, do you, Chloe Beale, promise to love Beca forever and ever and always, and always be her best friend, even when she’s being a buttface?”

“I do,” Chloe giggles. Beca frowns at Tommy, and he just smirks.

“Beca Mitchell, do you promise to love Chloe forever and ever and always, and always be her best friend even when she’s super annoying?”

“Hey!” Chloe protests.

“I do!” Beca squeals, bouncing up and down on her toes.

“Alright cool,” Tommy chuckles. “Now you guys have to kiss.” Beca stills, and Chloe’s face pales for a moment.

“We do?” She asks.

“It’s, like, a rule of being married. If you’re scared of cooties, or something, you can just kiss her on the cheek,” he sighs, clearly getting frustrated dealing with the children.

“I’m not scared of nothing!” Chloe protests, glaring at him.

“Oh yeah?” Beca asks, drawing Chloe’s eyes back to her. “Then I  _ dare _ you to kiss me!” Chloe recognizes the challenge, and the fear she’s trying to hide. Because as much as she’s mocking Chloe for being afraid, Beca is terrified of cooties; she confided this in Chloe during one of their sleepovers after a boy named Jesse had tried to kiss her on the playground.

“Okay!” Chloe starts to lean in, and Beca squeals, running away. Chloe giggles, chasing her around the house, all the way down the block and back before Beca finally gets tired, retiring to their treehouse.

“Okay… I… I guess you can… can kiss me,” she pants. Chloe giggles, crawling across the small wooden treehouse floor, and planting a small kiss on the tip of Beca’s nose. 

“Now we’re married,” Chloe smiles, falling back to lay on the floor. Beca just laughs, snuggling right up next to Chloe.

“Now, we’re married,” she agrees.

 

When she was sixteen, Beca would sneak out at night to practice driving her dad’s old truck. He left four years ago to marry some other woman. Beca calls her the ‘step-monster’ and refuses to see him. But the courts decided that Beca has to see her father on holidays, and some weekends. To try and make it up to her, he gave her the keys to his old beat up red pickup truck. 

“You’re getting better, Becs,” Chloe whispers. They’re alone in the cab of the truck, driving through the center of town, but Chloe likes to add a sense of drama to everything.

“I’m awesome,” Beca corrects. As she’s grown up, Beca got better at dealing with her hair, and it settled to a richer, chocolatey brown. Her eyes are ringed in thick eyeliner to make them seem darker, more intense, but Chloe is basically the same. Sure, she’s gotten taller (still a few inches taller than Beca), and the puberty stick hit her good, giving her curves in all the right places, and her strict workout regimen gives her the muscle tone. But her hair is still red, and curly, and her eyes are bluer than ever.

“Sure you are, Becs,” Chloe teases. “Now, drive over to the old creek bridge.” Beca just grins. The creek runs parallel to the main street in town, and there’s only one place where there’s a bridge: out behind the playground. In the summer, someone hangs a rope from the tree and all the kids swing out into the water. The old creek bridge hasn’t been functional in years; all that’s left are a few rotted planks, and the barebones framework of what it used to be.

“Yes, ma’am,” Beca chuckles. “What are we gonna do out there?”

“Skinny dipping,” Chloe says, and Beca recognizes the twinkle in her eye.

“We are  _ not. _ ”

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s two in the morning!” Beca protests, parking the car.

“And it’s April, Becs. Come on, we need to make some memories before I leave for college!” And when she turns to pout at Beca, Beca can’t help but groan and agree.

“Fine,” she mutter. “But you better not look until I get in the water.”

“Please, Beca, I’ve known you literally since the day you were born. I’ve seen you naked for years. Even  _ after _ you got hit with the puberty stick and got those boobs,” Chloe chuckles, raking her eyes down Beca’s form as they climb out of the truck. Beca scowls, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

“Shut up, and close your eyes.” Chloe rolls her eyes playfully before covering them with her hands. Beca waits a moment, peering at her before quickly taking off her sweatshirt and t-shirt. She glances back to make sure Chloe’s eyes are still covered before shucking off her running shorts. Now standing in just her sports bra and panties, she turns around, facing the creek. She can’t see Chloe peeking through her fingers, tongue sticking out in a grin as Beca hooks her thumbs around the band of her sports bra, yanking it over her head and tossing it to the side before kicking off her panties. Chloe has to work to reign in her gasp as she looks at Beca’s ass, watching the way Beca sprints before cannonballing into the creek.

“I’m looking now,” Chloe calls out as Beca surfaces, sure to stay floating with her chin just barely above the water.

“Fine, you weirdo. Just get in here,” Beca calls, giggling. Chloe just grins, shimmying as she changes. She knows Beca has her eyes closed as tight as possible, but Chloe doesn’t care. She’s always been pretty confident about…  _ all this. _

“I knew you’d have fun,” Chloe laughs. Taking a running start, she swan-dives in, swimming up next to Beca and grabbing her under the water. Beca shrieks, kicking away, splashing. “You always do when I have an idea.”

“Bad ideas,” Beca grumbles, floating away on her back. “Skinny dipping, vandalizing that old warehouse on sixth street-”

“Hey, that was not vandalism! All we did was make some art!” Chloe defends.

“Yeah,” Beca scoffs. “Art. On the walls. With spray paint.”

“It was very pretty,” Chloe sighs, swimming up behind Beca.

“Hey!” A voice calls out. “Who’s out there?” A flashlight shines on the surface of the creek, and Beca squeals, dipping below the surface. “Damn kids. That you, Mitchell? I recognize your dad’s truck.”

“Sorry, Mr. Healy,” Chloe calls, recognizing the voice. Officer Healy has been friends with their parents since they were born.

“Oh damnit, Beale. You, too? God, just get out of there and get home,” he sighs, coming into view. Chloe sinks down, standing in front of where Beca comes up for air, her face and chest a deep red.

“Um, Mr. Healy, you might want to leave before we get out,” Chloe giggles, loving the way Beca clings to her back like a monkey, desperately trying to hide her face from the older police officer. Doesn’t hurt that Chloe can feel Beca’s boobs pressed up against her back.

“Ah, geez, Beale. Public indecency? This isn’t… God, do I need to give you a safe sex talk?” He’s sighing now, spotting their clothes strewn all over the ground. “I don’t want to arrest you girls for having sex on public property at two A.M.”

“We’re not having  _ sex _ !” Beca shrieks indignantly, shoving away from Chloe. “Just… like… skinny dipping!”

“Beale, Mitchell, I’m going to walk away. You girls are going to get dressed, and not come back here again, understand? I do not want to have to write this up, or put it on the record. You know how those crime blotters get reported,” he calls, turning around as he walks away. Beca whimpered, imagining what her mom would say if she was in the local newspaper’s weekly report on local crime. “I never saw you girls, understand?” Much farther away now, the girls hear his car leaving.

“I am  _ never _ listening to you again,” Beca hisses, swimming to the creek bed, no longer shy enough to care as she clambers out. Sashaying ahead of her, Chloe grabs old blankets from the bed of the truck to dry themselves off before hastily pulling on their clothes. Beca has to grab onto the handle above the door just to get into the truck, scowling all the way. She is so eager to get out of there that they turn up the creek beds, leaving deep tire tracks as they go.

 

It should be noted that Beca and Chloe do not argue. They bicker. All the time. They snap at each other, and they get under each other’s skin. But they always make up within two seconds. Maybe it’s Chloe’s big blue eyes, or Beca’s pouty lower lip. It’s just impossible for them to stay mad at each other. But now, now they’re  _ arguing. _ They’re yelling, and fighting. It’s a knock-down, drag-out screaming match.

“I don’t care, Chlo!” Beca shouts. They’ve been arguing for an hour now, but neither is hearing what the other is saying. Their words are pointy, and sharp, each one packing a punch stronger than the next.

“You should! I’m leaving! I’m going away to college for four whole years!”

“Not in Alaska, or Antarctica, you idiot!” Beca knows not to insult Choe, but  _ god _ , she’s being so stupid. “There are planes, and trains, and cars. Hell, I’d walk to you! There’s phones, and texting, and the internet, and Skype! And you’re not locked up there forever! You come home on holidays, and for the summer. And I come to you on the weekends sometimes!” Ever since Chloe decided on Barden,  _ way _ down in Georgia, she’s been pulling away. Just when Beca was ready to start getting closer… and comfortable with how Chloe made her feel.

“I won’t do that to you. Georgia is five fucking hours away, Beca. I won’t… We can’t be together.” She’s quieter now, like the words physically pain her.

“Chlo,” Beca whimpers. Chloe has to turn away, as if it will soften the blow of hearing Beca’s voice break. “Chlo, I know it took me a while to get here but… I love you. And, and I  _ want _ you. It took me forever, Chloe, and I’m sorry! But please, don’t leave me,” she continues, trailing her fingers down Chloe’s arm.

“It’s not… Not your hesitation in this, Becs,” Chloe explains, pulling further away, still unable to face her. They’re quieter now, but make no mistake, they are indeed still arguing. “Who’s going to go to prom with you? Who’s going to… take you to the movies? Who’s going to…  _ touch you _ when you’re feeling lonely? I can’t be that for you.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You know I hate prom, and I only went for you. And movies are stupid, and if I survived this long without being touched, I can certainly get through some time without you. Why won’t you just admit that you’re fucking scared?” Beca’s shouting again, and Chloe flinches from the sudden onslaught of noise.

“Don’t Beca,” Chloe says harshly, suddenly walking away.

“Don’t walk away, Chloe. Don’t you walk away! Damnit! Don’t you fucking leave me!” Beca’s shouting, but Chloe just slams the door. Beca sinks to the floor, her chest heaving with sobs. Chloe  _ knows _ her attachment issues. She  _ knows _ Beca has an intense fear of people leaving, ever since her dad walked out. She  _ knows _ Beca, and she still left.

“Damnit,” Chloe whispers, out on the porch. She can hear Beca crying. She turns to knock on the door.

“Go… away,” Beca sobs.

“I… I’m sorry, Becs. I’m not… I won’t leave,” Chloe promises. 

“Just go!” Chloe shakes her head even though Beca can’t see her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises. And she does stay there, right on that porch until the sun rises the next morning, and Beca comes out with a mug of coffee, eyes puffy and red.

“You didn’t leave,” she grumbles. In the early morning light, Chloe seems to shine like the sun. At least, to Beca, she does.

“I… I love you, Beca. And I was scared. I  _ am _ scared. But I couldn’t imagine my life without you… So I can’t leave,” Chloe whispers, kissing Beca’s palm. “Could I maybe… Try and make it up to you?”

“Mmmm… I guess,” Beca smirks. Chloe grins.

“Oh, they’re totally getting married,” Chloe’s mother whispers when Beca’s mom calls to discuss how Chloe had been outside the door all night until she found the girls all tangled up in each other on the couch, all clothing besides underwear discarded to the floor.

“We both get to be mothers of the bride,” Beca’s mom squeals, peeking back to see the girls holding hands. Beca’s face was still red from being caught by her mom, and Chloe was laughing, trying to get her to cheer up. “They’re practically married already.”

“Our kids have been married since birth,” Chloe’s mother laughs.

 

A few years have gone and come around. Chloe’s out of college and working at the local elementary school part-time. Beca was taking classes online to appease her parents and get a business degree while working at the radio station in her spare time. It gave her a chance to play some of her mixes, and she’s met this intern (a high school senior working on her senior project) who’s helped her write some of her own music. Emily’s a little overeager, but Chloe thinks it’s good for Beca to hang out with someone more positive. 

It’s coming up on their fifth anniversary when Chloe invites Beca out on a picnic. They’re sitting in the town square, on the white gazebo. It’s always been their favorite spot. Parked on the little bench, they can sit and watch the entire town milling about their business. Chloe likes to make up funny dialogues between people (or inner monologues if someone’s alone), and Beca likes to make snide comments about everyone. They’re in the middle of this when Beca looks off, laughing about how Mrs. Snyder’s new poodle is humping everything and everyone, idly wondering if that goes on at  _ home _ , too (if you catch her drift). Turning back to Chloe, she finds her girlfriend on her knees.

Okay, she should clarify. Because at first, it does seem like Chloe is down on her knees- never something Beca is going to refuse. But when she looks closer, she notices that Chloe is only on  _ one _ knee. And she’s holding a box. A little box, only big enough to hold one thing. Beca’s mouth goes dry, all the liquid in her body apparently draining to her palms, and her armpits.

“Beca Mitchell-” Chloe starts.

“Don’t you dare give me some speech, Chlo. I love you, and I’ve been married to you since we were kids. So, let’s just make it all official with the law and everything, yeah?” Beca interrupts, her voice shaking.

“You did  _ not _ just interrupt my well-rehearsed proposal,” Chloe scoffs, but she’s smiling. “It was so  _ good!” _

“Um, hate to break it to you Beale, but you already proposed. I was seven, and you were nine, remember? You threatened to beat me up if I said no,” Beca laughs, pulling Chloe to her feet.

“Hey, that threat still stands. So… Are we making it all… official with the law and whatnot?” Even though Beca is three inches shorter than Chloe (only because of the shoes- normally it’s only two inches), Chloe still finds a way to look  _ up _ at her from under her eyelashes.

“Well, how could I say no? You could beat me up,” Beca grins, taking the ring out of the box and putting it on her finger. She holds it out, as if inspecting it, grinning at Chloe.

“Well, I am bigger than you,” Chloe laughs.

“Am I supposed to get you a ring, now, too?” Beca asks. Chloe laughs. “No, like, really.”

 

Wedding planning is hell. Literal and actual hell. Chloe’s friend Aubrey Posen from college calls every night, and does a billion video conferences about bridesmaids and dress colors, and designs, and floral arrangements. They settle on having a summer wedding, and Beca tends to just agree with Chloe to make the headaches stop. But the worst is when summer comes and Aubrey comes to stay with them, a constant pain in Beca’s ass.

But it’s all made up for when July 13 rolls around, and Chloe is standing there in her white dress. The floor-length gown is beautiful, and elegant. Chloe’s hair is pinned up, two tendrils falling out and framing her face. They’ve set up the wedding on the town green, and Beca meets Chloe under the gazebo.

It’s a beautiful ceremony. The flowers are perfect. Aubrey will probably bitch about something crazy specific, like how the minister spoke for two minutes too long, or something. But none of that matters to Beca, or Chloe, really. All that matters is standing in the sun, grinning at each other like idiots, and promising to love each other, to be faithful forever. All that matters is that Chloe said “I do” and so did Beca.

 

“I can’t believe your mom gave us a house,” Chloe giggles. They’re both a little sunburned, and the freckles on Chloe’s nose really stand out. They smell like the beach where they’d spent their honeymoon. Though they did also spend plenty of time in the hotel room. 

“She didn’t…  _ give _ us a house. She was moving into a smaller apartment, and sold it to us for a cheap price,” Beca corrects. Her mother had been talking about moving ever since Beca’s dad left; she said she didn’t need such a big house. But Beca begged her not to move them away from Chloe, so she stayed. For their wedding present, Ms. Miller (formerly Mrs. Mitchell), presented them the deed.

“But Beca, it’s like… This is the house where we met, right?” Chloe giggles, walking out to the front porch. Curling herself up on the porch swing, Chloe beckons Beca over. Beca grins, folding herself up next to her  _ wife _ (no matter how many times she says that, it’s still like a little tingle down her spine- Chloe’s  _ her wife _ ).

“So many years ago,” Beca agrees, holding Chloe’s hand. Intertwining their fingers, Chloe giggles.

“Maybe, in a few years, or something, we’ll be rocking out babies on this porch. And, like, some people will move in next door with their own kids. And they’ll fall in love with our kids, and they’ll get married, and the cycle will continue!”

“You’re weird,” Beca laughs.

“Thanks,” Chloe hums. She rocks the swing gently with her toe, and they sit in silence as the night grows darker, and the crickets chirp. “You know, I was thinking-”

“A novel idea, for you,” Beca teases.

“No! Shut up, really!” Chloe protests. “I was  _ thinking _ about… when we’re older, you know? Like, someday I’ll be 89-”

“And I’ll be 87 years young.”

“Stop interrupting,” Chloe whines, slapping Beca’s arm lightly. “Someday, when we’re old, and gray, and our kids have left, and gotten married, and had their own babies, I hope we’re sitting here. I hope we’re still sitting here, and that you still look at me like that,” Chloe finishes.

“Like what?” Beca asks, the trace of a smirk on her lips. Chloe just smiles, looking out at the sky.

“Remember when you were a kid, and terrified of the dark?” Beca nods hesitantly. “I used to want to have sleepovers in the treehouse, but you were afraid, and we always had to go inside, or I’d bring you home. But, I didn’t want to go inside. I mean, I did because you were so scared you might have peed your pants, but I didn’t want to. Like, during summer nights like this. Do you remember how I taught you not to be afraid of the dark?”

“Uh, you told me to find the light, right?” Beca asks, laughing. She doesn’t know where this is going, exactly, but it always makes sense in the end. She figures it’s just easier to let Chloe make her point.

“Not exactly. I told you to look at the stars. I had those glow stars over my bed, right? But the real stars, the outside ones, are better. I told you that even when it was dark, the stars still shine. And when you get scared, you just gotta find the stars, and look at the light, and you won’t be scared anymore.” Chloe stops talking, sighing as she looks up. After a while, Beca interrupts the silence.

“So, what’s your point?” Chloe just turns to smile at her lazily.

“You look at me like that,” she whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

“Like…?” Beca still isn’t getting this.

“Like the stars. You look at me the way you looked at the stars when you were afraid of the dark. Like I’m the light. And I like that. Love it. I just hope that years from now, when we’re old and wrinkly, and we’re sitting here, talking about the ‘good old days,’ I hope you still look at me like that.” It’s dark, but Beca thinks she can see Chloe blushing, staring out at the sky, like she can’t bear to look at Beca right now.

“I’ll always look at you like that, Chlo,” Beca breathes. “You are my stars. My… My… my light in the darkness. When I’m scared, I look at you and I feel brave.” It’s quiet. Until Chloe giggles.

“You old softy, you,” Chloe teases, burying her head in Beca’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Beca whines.

“You should be a poet, or something, Becs. That was some seriously Shakespearean shit. You should get publi-” Beca cuts off her wife (yep, still that tingly feeling) by kissing her. Oh my, my, my… Beca’s in deep for this girl.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews? Eh? Maybe? Come on, I'm a needy, hormonal narcissist who thrives on praise. Help a girl out.
> 
> Love you guys. Thanks for reading ;)


End file.
